


Neither Bored Nor Working

by fancyday



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Exhaustion, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, Tired Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyday/pseuds/fancyday
Summary: Fluff. John takes care of Sherlock after a complicated case.





	Neither Bored Nor Working

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker, so please feel free to point out any errors.

Sherlock and John stumbled into the flat. Case solved. It had been long and complicated and there had been a lot of three-patch-problems connected to it and a lot of running through London. Now it was nine p.m. on the fifth day of the case, and it was finally over.

Sherlock immediately flopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. John sighed. He went over to the sofa, gripped Sherlock around the waist, and put him back on his feet. “So sorry, Sherlock. You can sleep in a bit. Just get changed, and have a shower, and I’ll make us something to eat in the meantime, and then I’ll let you sleep. You’ll feel much better for it tomorrow, believe me.”

With one hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, John gently steered him in the direction of the bathroom. “Go on, I’ll get you some clothes,” he said, giving Sherlock one last nudge in the direction of the door. “’kay,” Sherlock mumbled in reply. 

John opened the door of Sherlock’s bedroom and tried to find pyjamas among all the suits and Dolce and Gabbana shirts with their rich hues. He succeeded in getting out a pair without messing up the sock index, and knocked on the bathroom door. It opened a little and a slender hand came out, took the clothes, and brushed against John’s palm. A bright eye and a dark curl appeared in the opening, and Sherlock glanced down at John. “Thank you, John,” he said. John smiled and went into the kitchen.

He settled for making soup, because it wouldn’t take him long to make, and he didn’t know for how long he would be able to keep Sherlock awake. Half an hour at most, John estimated. 

This was routine. John couldn’t count the times he’d had to nudge Sherlock awake barely two minutes after they had come back from a trying case, the times he had stood in the kitchen in the middle of the night, trying to think of some dish Sherlock would actually eat, the times he had checked an almost-but-not-quite sleeping genius for case-induced injuries, the times he’d picked up Sherlock’s discarded clothes from the bathroom floor, sighing, when Sherlock had long since gone to bed. 

Still, John liked these evenings. They were the only times being with Sherlock wasn’t a mad rush of thoughts and words and movement. John had Sherlock to himself, and Sherlock concentrated on what John told him instead of half-listening to him between a new clue and a deduction. Sherlock was neither bored nor working, not in the mood to dazzle and daze and impress, not in the mood to argue or insult, but simply there and Sherlock. 

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, looking like an advertisement for something or other. John smiled at him, and Sherlock blinked in reply. He stood next to John. 

“Are you cooking?”

Obviously, John might have replied, but it felt unfair to be sarcastic when Sherlock was barely keeping his eyes open. “Soup,” he said instead.

Sherlock nodded. John put an arm around his waist, in part to keep him near and in part to keep him steady. With his other hand he stirred, and Sherlock stared into the pot, apparently fascinated by the patterns John’s spoon was drawing.

“It’s ready,” John said after a while, and Sherlock sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. John put the soup on the table and filled their plates, and they ate in silence for a while.  


“I’m taking tomorrow off,” John said after a few minutes. “We can just stay at home and watch a couple of movies or go to the park or something. I don’t think we’ll need a case tomorrow. I don’t even think we’ll need anything to do tomorrow.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Sounds good,” he said.

This Sherlock was the one John shared with no one else, the one that looked forward to a day of doing nothing, that was tired and just said sounds good instead of anything particularly clever, the one that nearly fell asleep at the kitchen table.

“It does, doesn’t it?” John agreed with a smile. Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed, and John laughed a little. “Off to bed with you, now. I’ve kept you awake long enough.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled and didn’t move. 

John chuckled and pulled Sherlock to his feet, pointing in the direction of Sherlock’s bedroom. “Your bed’s in there, Sherlock. Think you can manage lying down and sleeping by yourself, or do you need me for that, too?”

The eyes opened just long enough to give John a look that was both tired and mischievous. “One never knows, John,” said Sherlock.

“I’ll be here then, in case,” said John.


End file.
